Weiss Collection
by Penguin-sama
Summary: A series of oneshots depicting the ups and downs of Aya and Yohji's relationship during a strict interpretation of cannon. YAOI.
1. Questions

Oneshot. Yaoi. Fluff. Maybe a little angst. Yohji/Aya. – What else needs to be said? Other than, of course, the fact that I don't own Weiss…or anything to do with it. Don't own any of the other cited works either.

For readers of my Bridges arc: This has nothing to do with that storyline. It's just a little fun oneshot. Consider is a reward for sticking with me so for long. A nice fluffy break.

To new readers: Hi! Welcome! Enjoy!

This is set during the regular Weiss series. A snapshot, a moment, a glimpse. It will be quite obvious once you begin this that I wrote it during lit class. If this goes over well, there may be more oneshots in the future. I dunno, we'll see. Really, this one needs a lot more work before being exposed to readers, but I find myself wanting to post it anyway. Oh well. Consider it a rough draft, and be kind.

* * *

"Stop it." 

A deep, quiet chuckle. A kiss brushed across his bare shoulder. The arm around him tightened its hold, pulling him more securely against a strong, nude body.

Skin against skin in a long, clean line – no unbroken moment where flesh did not touch flesh. There, pressed to the small of his back, irrefutable evidence that his partner was fully awake and ready to start the day in the best way he knew how. The other man did not, however, make a move to initiate their favorite morning wake-up ritual. Instead, he simply held him.

Nevertheless, sleep refused to return.

"I said stop it!" he snapped, keeping his eyes closed as if, by the act of doing so, he could continue to cling to sleep.

Another laugh. Masculine. Knowing.

He felt long strands of hair brush his shoulder as his partner leaned over him to brush a kiss against his cheek.

"I'm not doing anything," the other man mumbled, a quiet protest.

"Stop watching me." he growled, keeping his eyes tightly closed and refusing to buy his lover's innocent act.

"Why?" the other man asked reasonably. His hair tickled where it brushed bare skin. "You looked so content."

He grunted and hugged the other man's arm more tightly around him, entwining their fingers.

"Go back to sleep." he ordered gruffly.

"Don't be cruel, Ayan."

"Don't call me that."

"I never get to watch you sleep. Your face is all smooth and happy, no scowls or glares. It's a rare treat."

"Yohji…"

"'I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I did till we loved?'"

"Donne." Aya snorted, opening his eyes for long enough to send his lover a halfhearted glare.

Yohji smiled brightly at him. "You see?" he asked. "I _did_ read those books you got me for Christmas. Even though there aren't any pictures."

A snort.

"Some of them have pictures."

"Fat, naked Europeans. Not interesting. I'm thinking about replacing them with pictured of you. To…inspire me."

"You don't have any pictures of me."

"That you know of."

A grunt. Aya closed his eyes once more in another futile attempt to go back to sleep. Beside him, Yohji propped himself up on an elbow and set to staring.

Aya opened his eyes to glare again, and Yohji smiled once more. He reached out to caress his cheek, and Aya found himself reluctantly admiring the way the man's taunt, golden skin appeared in the early morning light.

"You know," the blonde observed casually, "You keep buying me books of love poems and the guys are going to catch on to our little secret."

"My giving you poetry doesn't mean that I love you. It means I'm trying to educate you."

Yohji leaned over him to capture his lips in a kiss. Playful, light, teasing. Yohji's kisses were always expressions of his personality, explaining him more perfectly than words ever could.

"_That_," Yohji declared quietly as he pulled away, "Means you love me."

Aya could find no way to argue with that logic.

So he didn't try.

"And where's the proof of _your_ love?" he countered.

"It's five a.m. on a Sunday and I've been watching you sleep for at least an hour and a half."

"That doesn't mean you love me. It means you're creepy." Extracting himself from the blankets, he began to rise from the bed. "Find a better example. _Yotan_."

The blonde's laughter followed him as he went into the room's connecting bathroom.

A casual glance in the mirror as he passed by on his way to the shower turned his stomach, making his amusement, his happiness, vanish quickly. Skin too pale, eyes too vibrantly purple, hair like blood. He generally avoided his reflection, but sometimes he forgot. Yohji made him see himself as beautiful. Desirable, even.

And being faced so suddenly with the reminder that he was not was like a physical blow.

The mirror had caught him. His reflection's freakish eyes held his gaze so securely that he barely noticed when Yohji entered the bathroom behind him.

The blonde smiled at him, and wrapped his arms around his waist, resting his chin against his shoulder.

"Why do you love me, Yohji?"

"So now you _do_ believe I love you?" the blonde teased, nibbling his neck. "I thought you were going to make me think of a way to prove it."

"No. I believe you love me." _Right now_, he added silently, certain that one day the blonde would get over his interest in him and find someone beautiful to love. "I still want to know _why_."

"Why. Hmm…"

"Yohji."

"What? It's a difficult question." Yohji grinned at him, kissed his cheek, and then turned his attention to their reflection in the mirror.

It was such a contrast. Golden Yohji, pale Aya. Mirthful green eyes, solemn purple. A smile, a scowl. Long, curling golden hair, short, choppy crimson.

"Damn, we look good together." Yohji decided. They both kept their eyes locked on the mirror, watching their images as Yohji caressed Aya's face. "We should make a movie."

"Yohji. I'm serious."

"'Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove.'"

"Yohji. Don't."

"Hell, Ayan, I just love you. Do you have to know why?"

"Yes," he insisted. "I do."

Silence a long while.

Then a deep sigh.

"I love the way you fit in my arms – as if you were made for me." Yohji said reluctantly. The blonde preferred action, Aya knew. If he had it his way, they would never talk, never leave the bedroom, never leave the bed. Any expression of love would come soley through their bodies, without a need for words to complicate the message. "I love the way you glare and complain and fight me, even though you secretly really enjoy it when I tease you." his eyes bore into Aya's through the mirror – burned him, seared him, left him breathless and trembling. "I love your determination in all things, your dedication, your strong, stubborn soul."

"Yohji…"

Aya's voice was a whimper, a plead, though he didn't know what he was asking for.

Yohji did not break his gaze. His eyes were serious, his mouth unsmiling, his intensity consuming.

"You know how much I need you, and you let me. You let me need you. I can't keep my hands off you, I can't keep away from you, and even though you act like it annoys you, I know that you'll always allow it because you know me that well." Yohji continued. "You understand me so perfectly…you know things that I've never told you. You just _know_."

The eyes at last dropped from Aya's and moved to graze his body. For once, there was no lust in that heated stare.

"'My Helice the lodestar of my life.'" he murmured quietly, before placing a final, gentle kiss against Aya's temple and stepping away from him. He returned to the bedroom, leaving Aya alone with his reflection.

Aya stared at himself, missing the presence of Yohji beside him. With Yohji's words still ringing in his ears, he could almost see himself as…if not beautiful, then at least somewhat…decent.

"Stop lookin in the mirror!" Yohji yelled from the bedroom. "You're fucking hot and you know it!"

Despite himself, Aya gave a small laugh.

Turning his back on the mirror, Aya returned to the bedroom, where Yohji was waiting with a bright smile and a welcome hug. Yohji kissed him, and the darkness was quickly and efficiently banished from Aya's mind as the two fell back into bed.

* * *

Fin 

To many modern day readers, Renaissance sonnets can seem overly romantic, even trite. But some of us still find it beautiful. Though it's probably an improbable topic of discussion for these two lovers, I had to put it in there simply because of the beauty I find in it, as well as in the idea of Yohji taking the time to memorize lines for his lover. (And I find it amusing that Yohji would choose Donne to quote first...)

Works Cited:

1. John Donne – The Good-Morrow

2. William Shakespeare – Sonnet 116

3. Edmund Spencer – Sonnet 34


	2. Solitude

So some of you may have noticed that I renamed this fic. It was originally just one single oneshot. Now I'll be posting all my oneshots here.

They're bound to be very fluffy, very mushy, and very full of Y/A yaoi goodness, with a sprinkling of emotional angst. Just the kind of pointless, cavity-inducing drivel I like best.

Enjoy.

* * *

"Who gave you permission to be so cute?"

A moment of silence. A long, slow blink.

Warily, Aya looked up from his book.

"Excuse me?"

Yohji Kudoh was sitting on his footstool, elbows on his knees and face held in his hands as he gazed at Aya.

The blonde fluttered his eyelashes.

"You heard me."

Aya closed his book, set it aside, and folded his hands in his lap.

"Whatever idiocy you have planned," he said with saintly patience, "I'm _not_ in the mood."

Another bat of Yohji's long, soft eyelashes. A playful pout.

"Who says I have something idiotic planned?"

"Yohji. I don't have the patience to deal with you today."

"But I thought you loved me."

"Yohji, you _promised_ - !"

The blonde rose from the footstool and spilled his lanky form into Aya's lap.

"Shop's closed for repairs and there are absolutely no missions on the radar." Yohji informed him innocently, toying with the edge of Aya's sweater. "This is a very rare occurrence and should be celebrated with nudity."

"Last week we took out the calendar, Yohji. _You_ were the one who circled today's date. _You_ were the one who promised that we could do whatever I wanted today, even if it _didn't_ involve any 'naked time'."

"Last week I didn't know the freezers were gonna break down and force us to close the shop."

It was tempting, really. Nearly impossible to deny Yohji when he pouted like that.

But as much as Aya enjoyed being Yohji's lover, he did need some alone time once in a while. Yohji's brightness engulfed him, consumed him, shattered him. Sometimes he needed the luxury of curling back into his darkness to rest. Yohji's love could destroy and remake him if he wasn't careful, and he was terrified of letting that happen. What would he be if he allowed the love of the beautiful blonde to recreate him?

"No. Yohji."

Silence for a moment as Yohji sulked. Aya steadfastly ignored him until the blonde snuggled against him, making ignoring him impossible.

"Yohji."

"Can't we give you your 'Aya-time' tomorrow?"

"And if we have to keep the shop closed tomorrow, too, you'll want to push it off again."

Yohji's hand slipped under Aya's sweater and the redhead jumped a little at the contact of the cool hand against his flat belly.

"I love you."

"Yohji…"

"How can you be mad when I just want to be with you?"

"I'm not mad!" Aya protested helplessly. "I'm just…"

It was distracting, Yohji's expert lips hungry against his jaw, his clever hands sliding over the bare skin under his sweater.

"In love with me?" Yohji murmured.

"Yes, but…"

"The most adorable grump in the world?"

"I'm just…"

"Sweet, and beautiful, and sexy, and delicious?"

"No! I'm just…"

"Afraid."

Aya fell silent as Yohji drew back a little, fell silent.

Had be been a weaker man, one with less control over his emotions, he thought he may have wept as Yohji cupped his face in his hands with incredible, heart-breaking gentleness.

"Aya," Yohji told him, "It's okay."

"It's too strong!" he protested weakly.

"It's okay, Aya. It's supposed to be strong. It's okay to love me as much as you want to. _I_ don't hold back, do I?"

"No, but…"

"It's okay."

Yohji kissed him, lips a soft press, no more urgent than Aya could handle, and Aya forgot why he was trying to fight him.

"Give up." Yohji urged quietly, lips moving softly against Aya's. "Don't fight, Aya. I love you."

"I love you." Aya answered.

"Then give up." Yohji pressed.

So Aya did.


	3. Rain

About this snippet: This is very different from my previous two little oneshots. It's shorter (I think…) and sad. Sad fluff? Hmm.

I'm not as familiar with this part of the series as I would like to be before writing, but when the plot bunnies bite, you either get to work, or you catch rabies. (Huh?) Actually, though, I could see tying this snippet and the two earlier ones into a choppy kind of storyline. It's something to think about, so let me know if any of you have an opinion.

Warnings for this one: angst, yaoi (of course), the fact I don't own anything… Oh! And I think the style is unusually prose-y this time around. The _feeling_ was so strong, I was helpless.

* * *

He lost his lover on nights when it rained.

Life was a fragile thing, every bit as fleeting and temporary as warmth or joy – enjoyable, but far too easily taken away. Chloe had realized this long ago and, having realized it, decided to make the most out of it. He could die before the end of any given hour – so why not do whatever the hell made him happy until then?

When the lovely red haired man had come to join their team, he had decided immediately that he wanted him. The chase had begun immediately, and though the man had fought him, they had both known how useless resistance was.

And unlike some prizes which, once won, failed to meet expectations, Chloe was continuously surprised by the strength of his attraction to the small, quiet man.

Some days, he even thought he might love him.

Their affair was passionate, exciting, volatile…and comfortable.

But when it rained, the man whose warm, lithe body filled his arms and his bed became a stranger.

And on those nights, Chloe knew that the man he knew wasn't real. The person he cared for was an illusion – a mask donned because if he _didn't_ become someone else, if he was always the man he became on nights when the rain poured and the thunder boomed, Aya Fujimiya would have died long ago.

There were degrees to the change dependant on the time of day, the amount of rain, and the duration of the storm, but it was all the same. The quiet man would become _silent_, his eyes, always softly sad, became…_withdrawn._

He became…gentle…on those nights. Needy, but gentle. He would accept any touch; often, he even sought out the comfort of Chloe's arms. Speech wasn't generally permitted, but he would spend hours being held and petted without complaint. If the other Aya, the one he was used to, would let him do that, Chloe thought they would never have cause to leave the house again.

Holding him so sweetly…he wanted to enjoy the experience. But Chloe had learned not to take advantage of the blissfully snuggly moods.

Because if he did anything but hold him, if he turned comfort to passion, and took the man into his bed, it wouldn't be him who Aya was feeling.

At first, he had thought it only his imagination – the way his lover's eyes grew vague and began to stare _past_ him, the way his hands would grasp at him with a desperate passion, the wildness, the ferocity, the declarations of love…

Aya was wonderfully intense on those nights, but it wasn't Chloe who he saw or felt.

And it wasn't Chloe's name he called.

Chloe lost his lover on nights when it rained.

And he couldn't help but to think that this man, this "_Yohji_", was either dead or insane, for surely no healthy man would ever willingly leave the man who his lover became on nights when it rained.

* * *

Fin

I'm hoping Chloe's character isn't too off the wall, here. The idea occurred to me, insisted it be written, and here it is. There may be more in the future along similar lines (but that doesn't mean the Yohji fluff is going away.) Anyway, if I butchered him, I'll have to take this down and do a re-write…

As always, comments are appreciated.


	4. Comfort

Another little pointless oneshot. This one is happier than the last. Though these can all be read as "stand-alone" and completely unrelated to the other enteries in this collection, for the sanity's sake of those with picky minds, this would take place in the regular series.

"Fucking son of a bitch!"

The insult was slightly damaged by the muffling effect of the closed door it was flung through, as well as the miserable coughing that interrupted both the words 'fucking' and 'bitch', but it gave him pause, nevertheless.

After a moment, he turned and opened the door, leaning against the frame and crossing his arms. Lips twitching, he arched an eyebrow.

The figure on the bed, propped up against a mountain of pillows and tucked securely under the thick comforter, looked small and red and miserable, lost in a sea of used tissues and empty cough drop wrappers.

"So, let me make sure I've got this _absolutely_ straight," Yohji drawled slowly. "Lask week when _I_ was sick, you didn't come to see me _once_ because you didn't want to catch Kudoh-cooties – and now that _you're_ the one who's sick, I'm a 'fucking son of a bitch' if I don't stay and nurse you back to health?"

Violet eyes flickered momentarily, but Aya dismissed any attack of conscience with his usual brutal efficiency.

"You've already been sick," he said gruffly, "So you probably won't catch it again."

"And all those miserable days when I _suffered_ all by myself, _desperate_ for the comfort of my lover and you couldn't even spare me a moment for a _smile_ while I _wasted away_…"

Aya flinched, and Yohji felt a quiet thrill of mean victory.

"Ken was out of town for that away game, and Omi had school!" the small redhead shot at last. "I had to run the shop by myself. Do you honestly think I had _time_ - ?"

He cut off, turning his head into the pillow as his body was wracked by a violent fit of coughing, and Yohji lost all urge to tease his small, miserable lover. Closing the door, he quickly crossed the room to the bed, and earned a flat, annoyed glare as he sat and gathered the man into his arms.

"I didn't have any options," Aya informed him plaintively. "I didn't know what else to do."

"Just shut up, will you? Stubborn ass." Yohji smoothed Aya's hair back away from his face, frowning. He hadn't realized Aya's fever had gotten so high.

"You don't think I _wanted_ to be with you?" he demanded. "I did what I decided was best for everyone!"

"Didn't I tell you to shut up?" Yohji asked, pressing a kiss to that burning temple. He pulled the smaller man even more securely into his arms, leading him to rest his head on his shoulder.

Aya fought him, glaring at him stubbornly.

"You're going to stay?" he demanded.

"_Yes_, love," he sighed. "I'm always going to stay."

"Good." Aya at last let his head come to rest against his lover's chest, and Yohji could feel him relaxing in his arms as he slowly, comfortingly, soothed his arms along the small man's back. "Then I don't have to kill you."

Yohji gave a soft, forced laugh.

"Bastard," he mumbled lovingly.


	5. Breakfast

This one's just pointless.

* * *

"My tongue is bored," Yohji announced suddenly one morning.

Across the breakfast table, a pair of violet eyes looked up from a newspaper. An elegant eyebrow rose slowly above the rim of a pair of reading glasses.

"I hope you aren't expecting me to come over there and amend the situation," Aya stated dryly.

Yohji grinned broadly.

"Well," he said, "The _least_ you could do is stop buying plain oatmeal. That'd keep me at least a _little_ entertained."

Those lovely eyes blinked. The newspaper lowered further.

"Oatmeal is heart-healthy," he stated. "Unless you plan to give up smoking, you need all the help you can get. Besides," he shook the newspaper and began to return to the article he'd been reading. "If you have a problem with it, then you shouldn't make me do the shopping on your weeks."

"_You're_ the one who thought compiling our chores was a good idea. I clean the bathrooms two weeks instead of one, and you do the shopping. Sounds to me like _I'm_ the one with the short end of the stick here."

"Calling your stick short? You _must_ be upset."

"Was that innuendo? From you? Oh, baby, that's hawt. And a hell of a lot tastier than this damned oatmeal."

Aya put the paper down and pushed his reading glasses up onto the top of his head. He stared at the blonde for several long minutes.

Yohji pushed back his chair and turned to watch him when he rose and moved to the fridge. The four men of Weiss each had their own "section" where they could place their favorite foods to keep them safe from the others. From his own private section, Aya drew out a Tupperware container.

"What's that?" Yohji asked suspiciously as Aya returned to the table.

Silent, the man opened the container and poured its contents into Yohji's oatmeal. Yohji stared at the assortment of berries until Aya began to move away, then he reached out and caught him around the waist, pulling him into his lap.

"I gave you something else to keep your tongue entertained with," he complained after Yohji kissed him.

"Yes. But _you're_ my favorite flavor."

"Idiot."

When Omi entered the kitchen a few moments later, he was most disturbed to find himself witness to "something completely disgusting that no one should ever, _ever_ see their friends doing."

And oatmeal was forever after banned from the Weiss household.


	6. Longing

Longing

* * *

In the days, the weeks, the long, endless, merciless months following the Rozencruz mission and the final, world-shattering disbandment of Weiss, _green_ was the only color the cruel mind of Aya Fujimiya would allow him to comprehend.

Green grass on a Spring day.

Green jewels on a woman's neck.

The purest blues of crystal oceans and the brightest reds of fiery sunsets were gray and dull and lifeless, because vibrant, impossible, _aching_ green was the only color that remained in his world.

Green in the hair of a punk on the street.

Green in the stem of a rose.

Cruelly, painfully, it was everywhere he turned, and there was no escape. Everywhere he looked, there was nothing at all but green – one color, one color alone.

Except where he wanted most to see it.

Green in the darkness, burning above him in the night.

Green in the eyes of his lover, bright and laughing and precious.

Aya never had learned the skill of being able to be completely relaxed and honest with those he cared for. He was too afraid of being left to admit how much he cared. He hoarded love, wrapped himself up in it, and failed to give any of it back.

He had starved his lover.

The sweet, wonderful, passionate man who had brought him back to life and out of the darkness had begun to whither and die for want of love returned. Aya _had_ loved him, _desperately_ loved him, but had never been able to admit it without prompting. He had habitually forced his lover to beg just to hear three simple, painless, wonderful words.

Green clouding over with disappointment.

Green as they said goodbye.

"I just…I just can't do this anymore, love," Yohji had told him. "I can't be the only one who's in this. If you could just let me in…"

Aya couldn't.

Green fighting to hide his despair.

Green following his every move from across the room.

They had been over long before Rozencruz, and Aya had never stopped pretending it had been what he wanted.

Green as he cast his wire.

Green as he prayed for death.

Aya had gone to visit him once, before Yohji had been released from the hospital. He hadn't entered the room farther than the doorway. A shadow, he left without being seen. Yohji wouldn't have known him, even if he had gone in.

Green in the eyes of his lover, bright and happy as he flirted with the pretty nurse at his side.

Green that was free and unguarded, and would never think of him again.


	7. First

A happier one for you this time. Enjoy.

His First

* * *

His laugh was warm and sweet, like sunshine or honey, and even though he knew the other man's laugh was directed _at_ him, it was that golden tone to the sound which kept him from becoming truly angry.

"I'm not going to bite," he said, sliding the soft blade of his thumb against his lips – a movement that caused him to shiver, his distrustful glare losing some of its vehemence. "Unless you _ask_ me to, I mean."

_Just shut up and let me do it_, he wanted to say, but he didn't trust himself. Didn't trust his _voice_, more accurately. If it came out half as shaky as he felt, he would never live it down.

That thumb slid slowly from the corner of his mouth to trace the path of his cheekbone, and then the hand was in his hair, and despite his best efforts, he found himself closing his eyes, leaning into that touch.

"Aya…"

It never felt like his name, until Yohji had begun to say it _that way_. How the man could manage to fit so much affection and yearning into that one word was a mystery – the stubborn blonde continued to insist that he didn't know what he was talking about when Aya insisted he not say it like that.

The way he said it…as if nothing and no one else existed…as if Aya was the only thing that mattered. As if Aya was his very source of _life_…

He opened his eyes, glaring, and Yohji's gaze continued to laugh at him mirthfully.

"If you do that, I won't be able to do this," he stated, and despite his best efforts, his voice shook a little.

"Do what?" Yohji asked innocently, moving forward to trace his lips against the tender skin just under Aya's ear. The small redhead fought the urge to give in to him, to let himself drown in the warmth of his body.

"Yohji!"

"Mmm….baby, you _know_ you're only making it worse."

"Why are you making me do this?" he asked, and even to him, his voice sounded pathetically needy and young.

Yohji stilled for a moment, then drew back.

"Is that what you think this is?" he asked softly.

Aya hesitated.

"No," he admitted reluctantly.

"Have I ever _made_ you do anything against your will?"

"No."

In fact, most of the time he waited for Aya to beg before he would do _anything_. Aya took a deep, shaky breath.

"Okay," he said. "Okay. I'm almost ready for this."

Yohji watched him, killing him with the intensity of his emerald eyes. This was important to him, Aya realized. If he backed out now, he would hurt him in a way he'd never be able to make up for. They were just words, but…

"Take your time," Yohji said, tone unable to mask his feelings.

"Okay. I'm ready."

"You're ready?"

"I'm really going to do this."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," he nodded, forcing himself to meet Yohji's intense gaze, resolute that he would _not_ look away.

"You look so stubborn just now!" Yohji laughed. Darkness was creeping into his eyes. Sadness. "You don't have to force yourself. I already know…"

"I love you."


	8. Reunion I

Although I like for these to be where you have the choice between reading these as related or as stand-alone mini-stories, this installment will connect to the one that immediately follows it. I'm not completely happy with it, and the ending isn't great, but it was an idea I had to try.

Reunion I

* * *

He'd pretended to be surprised, running into him at the supermarket.

"You don't like anywhere near this neighborhood," Ran had said with an unamused glare, refusing to be fooled.

Yuushi had only been able to laugh.

"Ungrateful punk – can't you even pretend to be polite?"

He'd only grunted.

Ran was greatly changed from the infuriating teen he'd been when Yuushi had known him, but that was to be expected. He'd chosen to be a killer, and once someone chose something like that, there was no going back. He'd seen it happen to others, had known he would see it in Ran, and had chosen to track him down anyway.

Cold, glaring, and hard, the changes in Ran were painful – but he was still happy to see the redhead.

And Ran had been the one to suggest, albeit reluctantly, and only after he'd realized that Yuushi intended to trail him doggedly throughout the store, that his former teammate join him for coffee.

"I have to go to the café anyway," Ran had stated dismissively. "I'm meeting someone there."

Yuushi had agreed purely for the excuse to stick around a little longer.

They put the groceries Ran bought into his car, and walked to the suggested café.

"It's good to see you again," Yuushi had said after it became clear that Ran had no intention of falling into conversation. He wasn't going to tease or annoy him like he used to, wasn't going to bait him. Ran was just going to sit there, like a statue, frozen and glaring. "So, I guess the new team's working out for you?"

"I guess."

He grimaced and looked down at the table, fighting the urge to comment on the dubious duties of the small man's new team. They'd already had that fight, before he'd left Crashers. He didn't want to spoil their reunion by repeating it.

"So, Ran," he began.

He flinched. "It's Aya," he interrupted.

"Aya?"

He gave a single, firm nod.

"Ah," Yuushi answered softly, dropping his eyes once more. He wondered why he'd done this – why he'd gone to such trouble to seek out his former teammate. He'd known murder would have changed the man.

Still, it was unreal, the thought that this frozen beauty could be the same man who had ignited such passion in him. They had never been lovers, but Yuushi had fantasized about it. Fantasized about taking rebellious, vulgar, infuriating Ran. Dominating him. Using his teeth to slowly unzip his mission attire…

"I'm with someone," Ran said suddenly, abruptly, and Yuushi wondered if the small man had ever fantasized about _him_.

"You…are?" he couldn't help but to be surprised. Ran was colder, harder, and had changed his name…but he was in a relationship?

Ran gave another sharp nod, and sipped at the tea he had ordered.

"Are you angry?" he asked.

Yuushi snorted loudly, shoving down his jealousy.

"What's he like?"

Ran raised his eyes and nodded at something just past him, over by the doors, and Yuushi, unable to stop himself, turned to follow his gaze.

The tall blonde man in the skintight leather pants met his gaze challengingly, and didn't even break his stride as he approached their table.


	9. Reunion II

Reunion II

* * *

He'd known from the first that his lover would be upset with him. He hadn't needed the long and silent drive home to warn him that he was in for some trouble.

Resigned to his fate, Aya mentally began to prepare himself for the coming fight, lining up his arguments with care. Afterall, it had been an accidental and perfectly innocent meeting with a former teammate – a teammate who, despite a strong and apparently mutual attraction, had ever once touched him in a way that would hurt his current lover to know about.

And anyway, he hadn't been able to lose the bastard in the store.

"That everything?" Yohji asked as Aya brought in the last of the groceries. The blonde was usually more than happy to lend a hand, but hadn't even offered to help today – instead taking a seat at the table and simply watching him, drumming his fingers impatiently atop the surface.

Aya closed the kitchen door behind himself, fighting to summon the proper anger that Yohji's obvious jealousy deserved. All he found he felt, however, was guilt – no matter how innocent the accidental meeting, he still felt like he'd done something wrong. It didn't matter that he hadn't once thought of Yuushi Honjou since becoming Yohji's lover, or that the surprising, strong attraction he had once felt for the man had completely disappeared in the time since their last meeting. It didn't matter that he loved Yohji with all his heart.

He'd had tea with the closest thing he had to an ex. An ex he had never once so much as hinted at to his lover.

"This is the last of it," he stated, moving to put the bag on the counter. He studiously avoided looking at his lover. "But I need to put the cold stuff away before…"

He heard the chair scrape back against the floor, and then there were large hands on his hips, pulling him, forcing him to turn around. Yohji pushed him backwards against the counters, and his mouth was on Aya's – hard and hungry and forceful.

It was surprise, more than anything, that made him try to push away, but Yohji would have none of it, impatiently grabbing his wrists and pulling his hands down.

His body ground into Aya's as he plundered his mouth mercilessly, as he forced his hands behind his back and used one hand to pin him there while the other came up to capture his face – holding him, turning him, forcing him wherever he wanted him as he dominated the kiss.

Pinned up against the counters, Yohji's grip on him almost hard enough to bruise, Aya knew, vaguely, that he should be angry – _furious_ – to be the recipient of such harsh treatment, but those thoughts were very far away. Yohji's lips fed at his mouth, tongue teasing, delving, teeth nipping when the smaller man failed to respond the exact way he wanted.

Aya tried to free his hands, and Yohji's grips only tightened. His body pressed even closer.

Aya was out of breath and slightly dizzy by the time Yohji at last wrenched his mouth away. The blonde grabbed his chin and forced his gaze to his face.

"Did he kiss you the way I do?" he demanded fiercely.

Fighting to catch his breath, Aya only shook his head.

"No," he managed to whisper, at last, after several failed attempts.

Yohji pressed even closer, his body a hard, unyielding line against his own.

"Did he love you the way I do?" the blonde demanded.

"No," Aya whispered again.

Yohji released him, abruptly grabbing him under the thighs and lifting him up onto the counters.

"That's all I need, then," he whispered and, gently this time, pulled Aya's head down to his for another kiss.

The small redhead nipped reproachfully at his lover's lips.

"_Idiot_," he mumbled fondly.


	10. Ghosts

This is another rough one. I was attempting to explore the set-p for Side B, and this happened. Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

Ghosts

* * *

"Aya…do you ever wish you could forget the past?"

The words that changed the world. On a bright, scorching hot summer day, Aya Fujimiya found himself shivering with a sudden chill. He wrapped his arms around himself as he walked, and knew it wasn't any kind of real cold he was trying to ward off.

_This_ was why he needed to leave Japan, he thought, angry with himself as he quickened his pace to follow the tall blonde walking down the crowded street. In such a large city, one would expect the chances of frequently running into any single individual to be relatively slim, yet Aya saw the man who had once been Yohji Kudoh nearly every week since the lanky blonde had been released from the hospital.

Aya had gone out of his way to avoid just this circumstance. He had changed his routine, started going out of his way when he had to run errands, _anything_ to avoid seeing the man who no longer knew him.

None of it helped.

Yohji _deserved_ his oblivion. It was a happy coincidence that his injuries had caused the forgetfulness he had yearned for, and so Aya was intent that the man enjoy his reward. He would not pull him back from his new, history-free reality for something as selfish as missing him.

"That's right – _you're_ the strong one." Yohji's smile had been so bitter after he had answered that he would not, in fact, like to forget anything. Why hadn't Aya noticed it then? Why was it only now, in his dark, cruel memories, that that detail rang so clear?

Aya had thought, foolishly and blindly, that when they had made the mutual decision to end their relationship, he had been being kind – setting Yohji free to find someone who wasn't as selfish with his love as Aya was. He hadn't once thought that, even though his inability to fully express his love made the blonde feel frustrated and isolated, the man had had no desire whatsoever to actually _end_ their relationship. He hadn't realized that Yohji's soft smile and quiet agreement to the proposed ending had been for him the complete death of hope.

Yohji had what he wanted now. He was free from everything that had ever hurt him – including Aya. And Aya was left to pay the price for his own foolishness, for hurting the man he claimed to love. Aya would never forget – no, in fact, the memories only grew stronger and more detailed by the day. He couldn't escape the phantoms of the love he had thrown away, and he couldn't escape seeing Yohji Kudoh in the streets of Tokyo.

Aya followed Yohji like a dog when he saw him out in public. Perhaps he hoped that the man would see him and know who he was. Perhaps he was only trying to reassure himself that he was still alive. Perhaps he was simply hoping to see some small trace – be it in a smile, an arched eyebrow, even his posture – that was the same as the man he had been before he had forgotten everything. It was all foolishness, but he was helpless to his own impulses.

At last, Yohji turned and disappeared into a shop, out of his range of vision, and Aya was at last free of the spell. Only when he was out of sight could Aya stop following him, rip his mind and his heart from his memories, and flee.

He nearly ran as he hurried back to his car.

He had to get out of Japan.


	11. Ownership

This one should be a lighter one. I hope it doesn't offend anyone – it was meant playfully, but sometimes Yohji gets a little out of hand…

* * *

"When I say you're mine, I mean it!"

The Look his lover gave him could have frozen hell.

"You're not helping yourself, Kudoh."

So displaying his possessive side in the middle of the crowded movie, and nearly bloodying a man who had, in truth, _not_ been hitting on his lover but instead only trying to ask if he had dropped his change, hadn't been the best idea Yohji had ever had.

Aya stormed into the bedroom ahead of him, tossing his jacket furiously on the bed, and Yohji knew that the best thing he could do would be to stop trying to defend himself, admit he had been wrong, and beg for forgiveness.

Unfortunately, the blonde had never been very skilled at choosing the _best_ option.

"It's like – we're _one_, you know?"

Aya turned to look at him – flat, disbelieving, challenging.

"You expect me to believe that?"

"Well…it's how I feel." Yohji knew approaching a furious assassin was a mistake, but he did it anyway. "So, your eyes are _my_ eyes, your body is _my_ body…" he reached forward, tracing his fingertips against his lover's mouth. "These are _my_ lips."

Aya nipped at his fingers, though he did look somewhat mollified.

"It has to go both ways if you expect to use that as an excuse."

"Oh – it _does_. For instance…if you do what I think you're planning to do…well, you'd just be kicking your _own_ ass, wouldn't you?"

A smile twitched across Aya's reluctant lips. Yohji took his chance, hurrying to gather him into his arms. Hands fisted painfully in his hair as he tried to lower his mouth to kiss his lover.

"Nice try, Kudoh."

"Come on," the blonde grinned. "You _know_ you want to tell me to go fuck myself."


	12. Dreams

This is another rough one. Sorry. I _am_ trying to accomplish something with these, I promise.

Dreams

* * *

Sometimes he woke at night in a cold sweat. Hands shaking, body trembling, he would stare at the wall and try to calm his breathing while his mind slowly began to forget the sound of a voice he had never heard shouting a name he had never known.

When it had first begun, his wife would wake with him. She would rub his back and smooth his hair and whisper meaningless comforts.

Asuka didn't stir anymore when the nightmares came. If he woke her, he never knew it. She was tired of comforting him.

"You're trying to remember your past," she'd said the last time, tears in her eyes. "Why can't you let it be? Aren't you happy with your life? Why can't _I_ be enough for you?"

She wanted children, and yet they hadn't made love in months.

She said that when it rained, he called out someone else's name.

"Aya…" he whispered. So strange that _that_ name would return to him, but not his own. He thought he had loved…her? No…not her. His dreams told him quite clearly that, despite the name, this 'Aya' had not been a woman.

Strangely, the knowledge didn't bother him as much as the fact that he seemed to know _everything_ about this Aya person, but he couldn't seem to find a way to piece it together to make it make any sense.

Red hair – he knew that much. Hard, pale body. Incredible eyes.

He had no idea what he looked like.

What bothered him most, however, was that he couldn't remember his _own_ name. Aya always said it in his dreams – caressingly, worshipfully, sometimes even furiously – but as soon as he woke, the name slipped away.

He felt as if, if he could only remember _his_ name, the rest of the puzzles would fall into place. If he could remember his name, it would somehow connect him to this Aya person.

This person who, sometimes, when the dreams were strongest, he felt as if he couldn't pass another moment without seeing.

His dream was gone now. His name, and Aya's face, had vanished.

Once again, he had missed his chance.


	13. Hopes

This is a very short one. I like the contrast between this one and the last one.

Should I mention that there seems to be plot sneaking into these? Or just hope no one notices...? (grins)

Hopes

* * *

It had been a long time since Yohji Kudoh had looked at the prospect of his future with anything like hope of excitement. After Asuka's death, everything else had stopped mattering. Food was tasteless, the world was dull and gray. He had prayed for an early death – done everything he could think of to help said death along – _anything_ to keep him from having to live too long in a world without Asuka.

The blonde smiled quietly to himself, and gathered the slumbering form of his lover more tightly against his own body.

It was hard to think of those dark depths now, with a sleeping angel held so securely in his arms. He felt like a new man – all the pain and the darkness and the hatred swept cleanly away by the quit love that shone in one amazing pair of bright purple eyes.

"Now you're just making me sound like some sappy wimp," he muttered dryly.

The man in his arms didn't so much as stir. He laughed quietly to himself, nuzzling that soft, red hair.

Yohji hadn't had much faith in the future for a very long time. He'd been suspicious of happiness when he'd begun to feel it again, but that suspicion – that urge to write off anything that didn't hurt as 'too good to be true' – was far away now.

Aya had finally said that he loved him.

How could _anyone_ fear the future, after hearing that?


	14. Momento

I just _adore_ Aya's Crashers outfit, don't you?

Momento

* * *

"You actually used to wear this on _missions_?"

Aya's eyes widened at the sight of the picture in his lover's hand. He knocked over a tower of books when he lunged for it.

"Put that back!"

"No!" Yohji laughed, twisting to keep it out of the smaller man's reach. "It's _so_ yummy! I'm getting it blown up to poster-size and I'm taping it on the ceiling!"

"Yohji!"

"Come on! It's _delicious_!"

"_Yohji_!"

He laughed again. "Come on!" he said again, continuing to avoid his lover's reaching hands. "You _knew_ when you asked me to help you move that I'd use it as an excuse to go through your things!" jerking away from his lover once more, Yohji turned his attention back to the photograph.

A hand fisted in his hair, jerking his head back painfully. "If _this_ is how being your roommate is going to be, then I think I've changed my mind!" Aya stated, grabbing the picture from him.

"I'm just teasing you. Aya! Let me have it back!"

"No."

"Are you _pouting_?" he demanded, watching his lover smooth out the wrinkles their scuffle had caused in the photo.

"No," he glared.

"It's a damn sexy outfit, okay? Nothing wrong with that. Let me have it back. Please?"

"No."

"You _are_ pouting."

"I am not!"

Shifting about, Yohji wrapped his arms around the other man and rested his chin on his shoulder, looking at the picture in his hands.

"All those belts…those _zippers_…" he turned his head to nibble on his lover's neck. "How come you don't dress like that _now_?"

"Stop. Teasing. Me."

"I'm not teasing. You look sexy as hell in that. I mean, you _usually_ look sexy as hell, but…"

"Yohji."

"Just tell me – _please!_ – do you still have the outfit?"

"Yohji…"

"'Cause if you do, you could put it on…like, right now…and I could show you _just_ how much I like it."

Aya was silent for a moment. Finally, he sighed.

"Kudoh. Are you serious?"

"Yes. Why? Oh! Gods! You _do_ still have it, don't you? Where is it? Where? Where?"

"Kudoh…"

"Please, Aya? _Please_?" Yohji jumped up. "You _have_ to wear it for me!"

Aya shook his head, burying his face in his hands.

"It's in the closet," he admitted with a sigh.


	15. Duty

Don't take this one too seriously. The idea simply amused the hell out of me.

Duty

* * *

"You wanna go catch a movie later?"

No answer came from the man in the chair. The athlete spun the soccer ball he held in his hands, fighting for nonchalance.

"How about dinner, then?"

A quiet grunt to the negative. Ken put down his soccer ball and approached the chair, leaning over his longtime friend and teammate.

"Hey, Aya?"

With a sigh, the red haired man finally looked up from his book – but Ken was leaning too close, and when he moved, he bumped the top of his head on the other man's chin.

"Ow! _Shit_!" Ken stumbled back from the chair, hands going to his face.

"Why were you so close?" Aya demanded, rubbing his head. His habitual frown only deepened when he saw that heat had rushed to his teammate's face. "What the _hell_ were you trying to do?"

"I was tryin' t' do my duty, okay?"

"Your…" one slim eyebrow rose. "Duty?"

He felt his face grow hotter.

"That's right!" with Yohji gone and Omi out of reach, they were the only two Weiss left – and Aya had been miserable for far too long. Ken knew what he had to do. "Yohji wouldn't want you to be alone."

"So he would want you – I _assume_ you're trying to hit on me – you think he would want _that_?"

"Y…yeah…" somehow it didn't sound quite as logical as it had in his head.

"Ken…" Aya removed his reading glasses and set his book aside. "You aren't interested in me. You aren't _attracted_ to me."

"Well…no. But I could probably learn to…"

"Ken. You aren't gay."

"I used to let Kase do stuff to me!"

Aya stared at him a moment, then shook his head. For the first time in years, Ken heard him laugh.

"Hey! I'm just trying to be a good friend to you! Don't make fun of me, you ass!"

"I'm sorry," Aya waved his hand at him, still laughing. "I can't - ! Can't stop - !"

His face felt like it was on fire. What in the hell had he been thinking, feeling sorry for Aya 'I-don't-want-anything-to-do-with-anyone-because-I'm-a-complete-ass' Fujimiya? He scampered back a few steps as the other man rose.

"I appreciate the thought," Aya said, trying, without success, to smother his amusement. "But I only date blondes."

* * *

Sorry Ken fans. I love the boy, but the idea struck me…and I couldn't help it.

And Aya really does have a certain "type." (cough-KnightYohjiChloe-coughcoughcough)


	16. One Moment

This is purely fluff.

One Moment

* * *

There were some things about them that were so completely similar. They both had thoughts they didn't want to think. Memories too painful to focus on.

Even the good memories hurt sometimes.

"What's that look mean?"

Yohji was too perceptive; he read him far too well. His detective's mind was always at work – picking up on the slightest change in expression, the tiniest sigh, the smallest frown. Where others looked at Aya and saw a block of living ice, Yohji Kudoh saw a puzzle.

A puzzle he could quickly and efficiently solve.

"It means…" Aya said slowly. "It means I'm thinking."

"About?" Yohji pressed.

Aya sighed loudly and glared pointedly. "What makes you think it's any of your business?"

"Come on!" the blonde wheedled. "Don't make me work for it on my day off!"

Aya sighed again. He set aside the book he'd been trying – without much success – to read and took off his reading glasses. He'd tried bribing his lover with one of those trashy crime novels the blonde was so fond of, but it was clear the gift had failed to capture his attention. Yohji was too fixed on _him, _and experience had told him that it was useless to attempt to distract him.

He rose from his chair and crossed the room to the couch on which the lanky man reclined, and he dragged a blanket over the both of them as he settled down beside – and partially on top – of the blonde.

"Aya?"

"I was thinking…that I can't bear my past," he answered reluctantly, "And that…there's no way to see my future. So…I was thinking that, if all I have is this moment…then I think I can be content with that."

Yohji was silent for a long moment.

"You're so weird!" he laughed at last.

Aya chose not to answer. He smiled to himself and snuggled closer, breathing in Yohji's cologne, letting himself be lulled by his steady heartbeat, and trying, _desperately_ trying, to appreciate every last detail of that single moment.

Yohji shifted so that Aya was laying almost directly on top of him, and brushed a kiss against his hair.

"Just right now?" he asked. "That's really all we know we have?"

"Yes."

"Then…I guess I can be happy with that, too."


	17. Lover

Aya's got weird reactions to things. Don't ask.

Lover

* * *

"Aya, I swear - !" Yohji ducked as a pair of pruning shears flew past dangerously close to his head. "You don't understand! I wasn't - !" shears were followed by first one, then another clay pot. "I wasn't - !" the third pot clipped him in the shoulder. His dodging skills clearly weren't what they used to be. "_Shit_! Aya! I was dreaming about _you_, I promise!"

"Why the fuck do you think I'm so angry?" the man demanded.

The question seemed to steal all the energy out of Yohji's protests.

"What?"

Aya hefted a fourth pot – this one containing a particularly wicked-looking cactus – and glared at his lover. He'd always known the man was an incurable pervert, even before they'd begun sleeping together. Since he'd become Yohji's lover, he'd grown accustomed to being woken occasionally by the blonde's moaning and thrashing as he enjoyed a naughty dream.

Aya knew the man had no control over his subconscious, and had never once become jealous. He also knew that most, if not all of those dirty dreams ended in nightmares that left the man shaking and unable to return to sleep for hours. On the nights when Yohji actually managed to wake him with his thrashing – which were often – Aya had even found himself willing to take him into his arms and comfort him as best as he was able as the blonde wept and whimpered the name 'Asuka' over and over.

"You're angry…because I had a dream about _you_?" Yohji clarified him, staring at him as if he thought he were crazy.

The blonde _hadn't_ woken in tears last night. He hadn't woken at all.

And he hadn't called for Asuka once.

"You're my lover." Yohji stated in clear confusion "Why are you so pissed about a silly dream? We weren't doing anything we haven't done in real life."

"You dreamed about _me_." Aya strengthened the force of his glare and Yohji threw up his hands in defeat.

"What the hell is wrong with that?"

"Don't you have any idea what that means?"

"No. Why don't you tell me?"

"It means you love me!" he accused.

I'm wondering if anyone out there could oblige me with some help with Side B, as translations have become impossible to find. What I really need are good character descriptions, information on any really important character-related events -- stuff like that. I would be forever grateful.


	18. Notice

This one directly follows the last one, and I'm not entirely happy with the flow of it, but here it is anyway.

* * *

He wasn't the one people were supposed to look at.

Beautiful or not, Ran Fujimiya had never looked anything like the other children, and children were well known to be merciless when confronted with the strange reality of one who is different. From an early age he learned to duck his head – to confront neither classmates nor teachers with the intensity of his purple gaze, to linger quietly on the outside of crowds in order to escape notice and prevent being asked to leave. He learned to find the shadows to best hide his brightly colored hair, to remain as still and silent and watchful as a defensive feline, and to otherwise find ways to detract attention from himself and onto someone else.

Aya-chan was usually that 'someone else', and in her case, at least, it always found a happy welcome. She was the sun, bright and warm, drawing all around to her fire. Whereas he feared attention, she thrived in it. Her lively smile and ready laugh drew people into the circle of her love with an undeniable gravity.

If anyone knew him at all it was as "Aya's brother," and that was an identity he was content with. He made good grades because there was nothing much else to do but study. Aya-chan had the friends, Ran had the report card. He was happy that way, if a little lonely.

Even back in those innocent days he was accustomed to being in the background, unnoticed save for those times in which he proved himself useful. The transition from a human into a living weapon for Krittiker hadn't been all that drastic. He was not a person to them any more than he had been a person to the classmates who would ask him to help them study, but never dream of inviting him out to a party.

He wasn't supposed to be the one people noticed.

And so the day when someone who shone almost as brightly as Aya-chan herself had smiled at him – not past, not toward, but _at_ – and told him without hesitation that he was loved, he hadn't known how to respond. Yohji laughed at his look of shock and crossed a room strewn with the debris that had resulted from their most recent argument. His arms encircled a body too frozen to resist and golden hair brushed his face as he kissed him.

"Aya…" he said warmly, laughter remaining in his voice, "Gods! You look like you've never heard that before!"


	19. Worry

This one would be set in the time period between Kapital and Gluhen, some time after Weiss has reassembled but before the new members have arrived. While it doesn't exactly mesh perfectly with the drama cds, I believe it still stays true to the spirit. One of these days I'm going to write something that doesn't contradict any of the cannon. One day.

Worry

* * *

"Geez. You'd think they were still together, they way he's pacing like that."

Omi didn't look up from the paper he was typing. "I'm sure Ayan worries when any of us have to go on a solo mission."

"Not like this," Ken insisted, watching as his red haired friend paused to glare at the phone before resuming his pacing. Though he was sure the man wouldn't be able to hear him from across the room, he lowered his voice. "It's not like he'd gonna do anything when Yohji _does_ get back."

"It's none of our business, Ken."

"Yeah, but it's annoying!" he hissed. "If they still love each other, then why don't they just _admit_ it? What's the point in ignoring each other, and taking solo missions just to avoid each other, when all they want is to be _with_ each other?"

Barely paying attention, Omi began to flip through one of his textbooks. "What are you going to do, Ken?" he sighed. "Lock them in a windowless room with nothing but a bed and a tube of lube?"

"Do you think that would work?"

"You just hate it that they won't tell you why they broke up."

"I guess they'd kill me if I tried something like that…" Ken clearly wasn't listening anymore. "Or they'd kill each other, which would be almost as bad."

"We'll be getting those two new members Krittiker promised tomorrow. Then we'll be so busy with the missions that there won't be time for solo work."

"Why are they both so stupid?"

As if in answer, the phone began to ring. Aya froze and glared over at the two of them until Omi sighed and rose to answer it. Aya remained frozen, barely even appearing to breathe, as the youngest Weiss spoke to whoever it was on the phone.

"Okay, thanks," Omi said at last. "Drive safe."

He hung up and looked back to Ken, knowing from experience not to address Aya directly when he was in this kind of mood.

"Yotan's fine," he said with clearly forced cheer. "His mission was a success and he's on his way home now."

Aya finally began to breathe again. With a tight, rigid nod for his teammates, he turned and headed back upstairs.

"And that's the last we'll see of him tonight," Ken sighed.

"I better go get the med kit ready."

"Yohji was injured? But you told Aya…"

"Yotan made me promise not to let him know."

* * *

The next chapter of this will be the last. Why? Because I've got a "sequel" of sorts planned – what I mean is, a fic which follows this timeline, which will take place directly after whatever it is that happens in the next chapter. It will be a normal fic, with events progressing in the correct order, and normal-sized chapters. If I feel the urge to write more oneshots, I'll start them under a new title.

So anyway, thank you for reading this far, and be sure to look out for the final chapter, as well as the coming sequel.


	20. Europe

Sorry it's been so far. Thank you for waiting.

Europe

* * *

Going to Europe had been Asuka's idea.

"I don't care which country, so long as we just go! It's so romantic, isn't it? Europe?" she'd clung to his arm in a way which she hadn't done since before they were married, and her eyes had been filled with desperate hope as she gazed up at him. They could both afford to take a few weeks off work, and it would be good for their marriage. Good for _him_. "You need to get out of Japan for a while – maybe then your ghosts will finally leave us alone!"

He'd been willing to give it a shot. Hell, he felt so guilty about the way things had been between them recently that he'd been willing to do anything she asked. He'd even thought it might work.

The fighting had begun before they even stepped off the plane.

By the third day of their vacation, they'd stopped speaking to each other all together. Leaving Asuka alone in their hotel suite with a 'headache,' he took to the streets the moment the sun began to set, hoping that losing himself in the unfamiliar streets would bring him some sort of perspective. Surely drowning himself in the sea of unfamiliar faces – uncaring strangers who spoke a completely different language and lived lives nothing at all like his own – would bring him a new appreciation for the sweet woman who had so selflessly helped him to build a new identity out of the shadowy remains of the old.

Nothing guided his feet, save a depressed sort of boredom. There was no pull of instinct, no draw of destiny – mere chance, and chance alone, led him to enter a small, noisy pub about three miles from his hotel.

No one took much notice as he entered. As he approached the bar, he drew his small tourist phrasebook out of his back pocket, hoping it had an entry in it about ordering drinks in English.

As he was taking a seat on a bar stool, however, a flash of red from the corner of his eye caught his attention. As if stuck in a dream, he turned his head.

The man sitting alone at the other end of the bar was the singularly most beautiful creature, male _or_ female, he'd ever seen in his life. Those vibrant, violet eyes, so inexplicably familiar to him, were large with surprise. His perfect face was pale and frozen.

He approached the strange man like a sleepwalker, impossibly drawn to a person whose face was not even a memory, and the man remained, frozen and staring, even as he drew near.

"You're…Aya…aren't you?" he asked, and knew it was true even before the words escaped his lips. His hand reached of its own accord, fingertips brushing the strange beauty's cheek. He knew even before he touched him that his skin would be unbelievably soft.

The man only stared at him, unanswering, hardly appearing to breathe.

He found himself smiling.

"You wanna get out of here?"

* * *

End.

I was asked to give some kind of timeline for these. The best I can come up with is: Lover, Breakfast, Notice, Questions, Reunion I, Reunion II, Momento, One Moment, Ownership, Comfort, His First, Hopes, Worry, Longing, Ghosts, Dreams, Duty, Rain, Europe – although some could be interchanged.

I know I promised a sequel, and I'm planning one – but it's not coming to me as easily as I thought it would, so I can't give you any estimate on when you might see it. In any case, I thank all of you so much for reading my oneshots, even when they became not-so-oneshots. I apologize again for long wait between chapters.


End file.
